Three Hundred A Day
by Jeiq
Summary: Mitsui and Jin play ball in their college gym, talk about the old days and share their thoughts and small secrets in an unlikely conversation where both boys learn just a little bit more about - and from - each other.


_ I have an unhealthy desire to include much dialogue and little action in what I write, lately. But at least here I have included lovely boys to celebrate my superficiality. Lovely, manly, angsty, bishie boys. You can imply anything you want. Aaaaanything. _

  
**

Three Hundred A Day 

**

He runs for the hoop, lifts off, slams the ball down through the net; swings for a brief moment, the strain of his weight running tight through corded tendons and muscles, then lets go. The wooden floor is an impact that hurts and satisfies. 

I miss doing this, he thinks. 

When he looks for the ball, it is in the other boy's hands. He shakes his shoulders, loosening joints in elbows and wrists and the sharp bones at his back, turning his neck from side to side. Sweat beads on his forehead, cooling, trickles sticky down the front of his jersey; he blows his breath out, stops and bends over with his hands on his knees and his legs straight. Breathing. 

"How the hell did I get so out of shape?" he says out loud. 

He looks up in time to see the ball sail, perfect and slow and air-cushioned, in a simple, beautiful loop, going up and then spinning down, falling through the hoop so elegantly that the net barely curls up in response. It is the beauty of beauties, a textbook three-pointer, made without hurry or fuss or apparent effort. But he knows how much it costs the other boy, to do that. 

"How many was it," he asks, "three hundred, four hundred?" 

"Three hundred practice shots a day." 

Mitsui points his forefinger at his temples and describes a circle, rolling his eyes, to indicate, 'crazy'. 

"When you love something," Jin says, stopping beside Mitsui, also having difficulty breathing, "you don't mind being crazy." 

"Right. Hey. Sit down, okay?" 

"I'm fine--" 

"I'm not!" 

Jin laughs. Once again Mitsui realises how much he does not know this boy - how strange it is that they now meet every other night in the gym, playing as a game what they used to wage as war, in high school. Both boys collapse on the floor of the court, looking up at the ceiling. Dust drifts down from the rafters, and they shade their eyes against the lights hanging high overhead. Mitsui tugs his hair off his forehead; he's growing the front out, now, although he still mangles it with a scissors in front of the bathroom mirror whenever his fringe starts hitting the eyebrows. A return to the rakish bad-boy of gangster-days, he thinks, and grins. He wonders if he still looks like he wants to beat up everyone he meets. He thinks so - at university, people stay out of his way, and troublemakers are surprisingly quiet in his presence. 

The hell they know me, he thinks. Hell. Jin doesn't really know me - how well do I know _him_? - but he's given me the benefit of the doubt, and now there's someone to make fun of the lecturers with in class, someone to copy homework from, someone to call up when you're bored and you want to go out to grab a drink and a bit but you don't want to go alone. Because that's what this place is, he thinks. Alone. The others scattered, some going pro, some leaving basketball and doing college, like him, but none going to the same place that he made it into. Yeah, he thinks: I made it. Into university. How impossible was that dream a few years ago? 

Now he's glad that he played basketball in high school, played for Shohoku and learnt how to want something, to strive for it, to be proud of it. And he's slightly glad, too, that he remembers this child-like face from the games that he played against Kainan High, recognised Jin when he saw him amongst the crowds of students, had someone to shake hands with, to talk about old times, shared friends, shared passions. 

"Good game." 

"Same to you. What was the final score?" 

"I think we more or less drew. But I think you win on the basis of staying on your feet longer than I did." 

"Really?" 

"Sure. Shit, I'm _black_." Mitsui is looking at his arm, noticing how dark his tan is compared to Jin's pale skin. "I'm burnt! I'll turn into Gori soon." 

"At least you just tan... you don't turn red..." 

"Ha ha... remind me to steal your umbrella one day." 

Jin smiles, eyes closed, head tilted back so that the edge of his skull rests on the floor. "That is exactly what Nobunaga used to say." 

"How is that monkey, now?" 

"Enjoying his senior year, I suppose. He's very busy. Very excited. He's thinking about going pro." 

"Monkey," Mitsui says, dismissively, thinking of the other monkey he knows - Shohoku's red-headed, self-proclaimed _tensai_ - and wondering for a moment how _he_ is doing. "He can go and join Hanamichi. That baka... I swear he would play in a dress if it made him play better." 

"He's good. Nobunaga is also good." 

"So are you," Mitsui says. "Did you consider it? Going pro?" 

Jin shrugs. "I don't believe I could play basketball professionally," he says, matter-of-factly, although he turns his face away from Mitsui for that fraction of a moment. "I'm surprised you didn't." 

"I might, after I graduate. Maybe I'll be too old, by the time I get out of university. But I'd rather miss out on basketball and have something I can build my life on." 

"You'd do that?" 

"I'm doing that," Mitsui says. "I'm not going to be young forever. Maybe even if I go pro, I might not make it big. And if I don't, what am I going to do? I'll be damned if I let myself fall any further than I've already fallen before." 

"That's a good way to think about it." 

Jin's voice sounds so light, so different, that Mitsui turns his head to one side, rather concerned - it is always a small fear of his that in his general insensitivity he may one day totally ignore some important thing that Jin has to say - and looks at his friend. Jin's large, soft eyes are still shut, the delicate mouth still curved upward in a smile that he can never seem to stop smiling, but Mitsui senses that not all is right, that he can only guess at what Jin is thinking and wonder why it is affecting him so. 

"Think about what?" Mitsui asks. Damn you, he scolds himself, make sure you choose your words carefully... 

"About everything. About going to college instead of playing basketball. It makes sense." 

"It's not about sense, really..." 

"I don't know. I think, you know, sometimes, that I am crazy... I wish too often that I had tried going pro, at least tried once, instead of going off straight to university. I know it's crazy. You don't go pro, even on three hundred practice shots a day, if you don't have any natural talent. But I wish I had gone crazy and tried it, anyway, because it's what I love doing... and not doing it is making me equally crazy..." 

And Mitsui understands, but cannot think of anything to say. Damn you, he says to himself again, you stupid, insensitive, person, you, you can't even come up with something soothing to say to a friend? What kind of friend are you? Oh, hell, I wish he'd stop smiling. 

"You know," he says, and he doesn't believe that he is saying this, and he prays that it's the right thing to say, "you know... You can stop smiling if you don't feel like it. When I'm feeling like shit, I... I go smash things up... I mean, kick a sandbag in the gym... because I don't feel like _not_ smashing things up. I mean... don't give a shit about the fact that I'm here, okay?" 

Jin has turned over, turning his back to Mitsui, so that Mitsui cannot now see his face. But he says, "Right," and now there is no happiness in his voice, not even the calmness that is always around him. Mitsui breathes out. It may not be the best thing to say, he thinks, but at least I'm not an extra burden stopping him from... well... from feeling like shit. 

Oh yeah, Mitsui Hisashi, you're a great friend. 

He gets up and walks toward Jin, taking care to move slowly and not try to look at the other boy's face. Staring over Jin's shoulders, he says, gently, "I think I said that wrong. I meant, don't give a shit about me being here... but don't forget I'm here. Okay? I'm going to turn the lights off, now. And I'm going to take my stuff and sit at the door to the court. And when you want to go back to dorms, you can take your stuff and come to the door and we'll go back to dorms together." 

Jin says something. Mitsui frowns. Shit, he thinks, first I can't talk properly, now I can't hear properly. "Sorry?" 

"Shower first." 

"Right," Mitsui says. "Hit the showers first, then go back to dorms. Good point. Practice good hygiene. I'm going to find the light switch now before I say anything more stupid. You'll be okay?" 

"I'll come with you." 

Jin gets up before Mitsui can say anything else. He is not smiling, but he seems to have found some degree of peace; still sitting down, he starts untying the laces of his shoes, and so Mitsui sits down and does the same. The court becomes a well of darkness when they hit the light switch; Mitsui opens the door for Jin to walk through, and shuts it behind him. 

"Thank you," Jin says. 

"No problem." 

* * *

_ What will happen in the showers? I dunno. I'd probably die from laughter re-reading it if I wrote it. I am. Inept. _

On a side note... I managed to watch about five to six episodes of Slam Dunk the other night at my friend's place - I think it was the match between Ryonan and Shohoku - my SHOE, I swear I have not seen anything as slow-moving since my brother insisted on watching Dragonball in our childhood. Of course, the next night when I was not there Sakuragi performed all his tensai tricks. Kanasai. 


End file.
